P r e t e n d
by Sammy-chan17
Summary: Her marriage was failing, doomed for divorce and she knew it. She hoped he knew it too. But she liked to pretend. Orihime centric. Oneshot. AU.


Silence, it was deafening. His warm hand rested atop her waist, it wasn't enough, it would never be enough. She listened to her husband's even breathing, though it was quiet as a mouse; she could just hear it, and it comforted her.

She slowly got up, making sure not to disturb the sleeping figure beside her. She looked back at him, noticing the bit of drool on the side of his mouth. She shook her head, looked away and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

A few years ago she might have thought it was cute but now... she didn't even know what to think anymore. Her marriage was failing, doomed for divorce and she knew it. She hoped he knew it too. But she liked to pretend. Pretend that she was fifteen again and still in love with that strange face of his that always seemed to be scowling.

It never worked, she didn't expect it to anyway. So, she liked to pretend again. Pretend that he was someone else. So now, whenever she looked at her husband, she wouldn't see him but rather a dark-haired man that she had hopelessly fallen in love with.

She sighed, then took a long sip of her icy cold water. It made her feel more pure, a little less guilty about the dirty thoughts that ran through her head sometimes, the ones where she would be sleeping with another man.

She combed her fingers through her hair is frustration and threw the glass to the ground, it shattered of course. The broken shards cut her bare feet, the pain was nice though. She liked it.

She dropped to the ground and felt her eyes get blurry, she was crying. But no, he still didn't care.

The auburn haired woman began her quest of picking up the fragments of the glass, or rather 'their relationship.' She felt it pierce her hands, staining them with red. Red like roses. But not really. Roses were romantic, roses were passionate. There was nothing romantic nor passionate about her marriage. Thorns were a better way of describing it. Yeah, thorns were a good comparison. Their love was like thorns.

She numbly walked over to the kitchen sink, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She washed her hands, feeling the water sting her cuts slightly. But at least the red was gone. She didn't like the colour red anymore.

White's a good colour though. White's a pure colour. Like how she wanted to be. A pure woman, someone who never cheated.

White reminded her of her dark-haired friend, he always liked the colours white and blue. They suited him well too.

She picked up the phone that rested on the counter and dialed her friend's number. Maybe it wasn't the best idea but hopefully, it would cheer her up.

"Hello?" she greeted, "I'm sorry for calling so late..."

"Oh really? You work so hard..."

"It's just that... Can you come over?"

"Thank you, I'd really appreciate that."

She ended the call and put the phone back into its rightful place and just sat in the living room, sat and waited for her dark-haired friend.

Soon, a knock was heard and she went to answer the door. There he was, standing there right in front of her. How could she possibly resist?

Dragging him in by his dark blue tie, she shoved him onto the sofa. He tried to protest but she wouldn't listen. Not when she had him just where she wanted. She kissed his neck, she kissed his lips, she kissed his nose, she kissed every visible bit of his flesh. She ripped his shirt off and threw it aside; he'd definitely not need it tonight. He was in her domain and she would make sure he'd never leave.

The rest of the night is a blur. A wonderful blur, she knows, filled with immense pleasure that would never be forgotten. He would never forget either.

* * *

She opened her eyes, an empty space beside her in bed. A stupid golden band of broken promises laid on her bedside. A few broken picture frames scattered on her shelf. They were all pictures of her husband and her anyways... One of them was her dark-haired friend and her sitting under a cherry blossom tree, that was the only one that wasn't in a broken picture frame.

Last night had been another illusion, her dark-haired friend - Uryu - had passed away a couple of years ago in a devastating car crash and her husband - Ichigo - had left her a year ago, she suspected, for another woman.

But sometimes, she liked to pretend she was alright.

**A.N: Just a really short angst oneshot. Makes no sense really but who cares when I wrote this as my usual sleep deprived self.**

**~Sammy-chan17**


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